


Amantium iræ amoris redintegratio est

by Fabulae



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fix-It, Light Smut, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), angst if you squint, angsty fluff, author metabolising movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabulae/pseuds/Fabulae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love." Terence. </p><p>Steve sent Tony a phone; call, if you need us. But it's Steve that needs Tony. And Tony helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amantium iræ amoris redintegratio est

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed spur of the moment little fix it, mostly a way of dealing with Civil War feelings. It is clear I can't write angst even if I try very hard. Nor anything that is 100% in character. But if you like yourself some angsty fluff, a bit of sexy times, and way too many possessive pronouns and Saxon genitives, you've come to the right place.
> 
> Sadly, English is still not my first language. Grammarly did say I am a Master Grammarian but errors may occur, be aware. I also like to take liberties with this pretty language because: laziness.

The clamshell phone sits on Tony’s desk like a Oscar would sit on a actor’s bookshelf. Tony’s desk is cluttered and not very orderly but the phone is in a mess-free space, surrounded only but the aura of Tony’s wishful thinking. 

One day the phone rings. Steve’s voice in Tony’s ear. 

Is Steve in danger?

Are his friends in danger?

But Steve’s voice is calm, it almost sounds like nothing has happened between them; his tone is guarded, neutral, somehow unsure of his standing with Tony. Steve is stubborn, Steve is not always right, often they had misunderstood each other and raised their voices and often Steve would have called Tony, with a tentative voice, a voice that did not offer much, that was waiting for the other to show his hand. 

So Tony shows his hand. As he always does. With the people he loves. With Steve.

“Hi, Steve”. His voice, hollow, sad, hopeful, mistrustful, vibrant with unspoken emotion.

Steve needs a favour. A big favour. He needs Tony’s help. So Tony suits up and flies to Wakanda.

It’s Bucky, of course. Who else would it be? Bucky’s arm is not working properly, not the one the Wakandan scientists built. Tony fixes it. 

Tony is in Steve’s quarters, with Steve, to say goodbye. Maybe to talk.

“Thank you”. Steve says. His voice, not neutral this time. Broken.

His voice speaks of a man that is keeping the world on his shoulders. Alone. People relying on him, he has to be strong, to be the Captain. Bucky is his friend, but he is hurt, Steve is piecing him back to together. But no one is keeping _Steve_ together. 

Steve, with his head down, his eyes red with uncried tears of fatigue and pain. 

Steve with his strong body and fragile soul.

Tony finds him in his arms. They don’t know who reaches first. 

Tony keeps him there for what feels like hours to him. Speaking soothing words into his ear. Stroking his hair. Forgetting. Forgiving. This is what he does with the people he loves. This is what he does with Steve.

Steve holding onto to him. Tony kissing Steve’s temple. “You are not alone. Call me when you need, I will come”. Steve’s temple warm; his skin soft, soft fuzzy blond hair veiling it; Tony lingering. Absorbing him, there’s a fire Steve lit inside him. Tony’s not cold anymore.

Tony leaving Wakanda, suited up. His body crying to go back.

Caller ID unknown. “Steve”. Tony is in a meeting, important people. None as important as Steve. The ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Thin now. Surrounded by lines.

Tony in his workshop, talking to Jarvis, Jarvis that is no more. Steve needs a new suit. Commander Rogers, that’s who he is now. No more shield, no more Cap. 

“Tony, it’s perfect”. Steve has his new uniform on. It’s blue, a deeper shade than his eyes; a star on his chest. Designed and fabricated with materials that don’t even exist. Perfect. Calibrated to him, thousands gigabytes of Steve’s fighting analysed, the math is perfect, but there’s love there also and Steve knows. 

Tony’s perched on Steve’s armchair. Tells Steve to push a button on his wrist. A hard light shield illuminates the Wakandan nights. Steve smiles, Tony does too.

After that, new weapons for Clint; a better suit for Scott; Wanda wants to see Vision. 

There is often a reason for Steve to call Tony. Somehow along the way the reasons blur with something else. Tony flies to Wakanda. Tony does what Steve asks him to do. Then Tony stays. It’s half an hour at first, then an hour, then a day. They spar, they chat, they plan. They always made a good team.

Their friends see it. They fought so hard against each other, a measure of how much they actuallyneed each other. Too stubborn to say it out loud. They hover in each other space. Continuously.

The animosity, the harsh words, the fights, the almost lethal blows dissipating with every casual word of friendship, stolen touch of comfort, chess game, shared pizza; until there is nothing left. But Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. No more American icon, no more playboy billionaire. Only them, stripped of their public persona but also a sum of it. They like each other. 

Tony is slumped on Steve’s couch, tinkering with a new toy. Steve is off training. Steve comes back, takes a chair, sits in front of Tony; lets his long tired limbs rest on the couch next to his friend. Stretching them, arching his back. Tony is muttering something to himself. A snarky remark. His legs, so long, never ending. Steve catches it. Super soldier hearing and all of that.

 

Steve lifts a leg. Rests it on Tony’s shoulder. Tony mutters show off but doesn’t complain. Drops his hand, casually, carefully, on Steve’s shin. Steve’s wearing gym slacks, his legs upright, it’s a whisper of Tony’s fingers to roll them upward, towards his knee. Tony has his hand on warm skin now. He regards it, he feels the strength, but also the intoxicating smoothness of his friend’s skin. 

Meeting Steve’s eyes, Tony kisses the inside of his calf. Nips at it gently, with a brush of teeth. Sucks the taut skin. Leaves a mark. Steve hisses. A sharp, exhilarating, intake of breath. 

Tony’s thumb strokes Steve’s inner thigh. With firm decision. Steve’s frozen, then he’s not anymore. The time for denial is past. 

It’s a single motion. A show of his unnatural, perfect, beautiful strength. A strength Tony has never feared. Never sought for. Only craven to be encompassed by. Steve is on the couch. Tony’s in his lap. Steve’s hands on Tony’s hips. Keeps him in position. Keeps him from running away from this. 

Not that Tony wants to run. Not now. Possibly not anywhere, not anymore. 

Tony’s fingertips, his hands, his most prized possession, on Steve’s face, connecting, mapping, studying, pressing. Hard planes, soft lips. Eyes closed, Steve’s. Eyes open, Tony’s. 

Lips on lips. A soft brush. Lips on neck, a sharp suction. A mark. You’re mine. 

Hands around shoulders. Foreheads against forehead. Then a tongue inside a mouth. I am yours. 

Tony between Steve’s arms. His head dipped low to meet his friend’s lips. To kiss his nose. To brush soft kisses to his temple. There is urgency, urgency to learn and to mark. 

Clothes on the floor. Human instincts. Craving contact. Craving the friction of skin to skin. Glued to each other. Steve’s strength. Tony’s on the bed now. Steve’s bed.

 

Tony’s cock in Steve’s mouth. You’re mine. This belongs to me. Steve sucking, biting. Steve is stubborn, he wants all of it. He is not taking it slow. Tony is surprised. Steve, unexpected. Tony should know that. 

Steve’s fingers, slick. In Tony’s ass. Tony moaning. He has always surrendered to Steve. Iron Man bows to no man but to one. His man. Steven Grant Rogers. 

That’s the name he owls when Steve toys with his ass, plays with it. Now a rediscovered patience in opening him up. But Tony’s ready. 

Another flash of muscles, a movement. Tony’s face pressed on the mattress. Steve’s kissing his neck. Steve biting his neck. Steve biting his spine. Steve pushing his cock, hard, big, long, in Tony’s ass. They are both on their knees now. Steve’s strong arms around Tony’s chest. Around Tony’s waist. Plastering his lean body against him. They are moving in unison. They are a team. They move together. They scream together. 

Steve’s hand on Tony’s cock. One, two, three. It’s their first time. They don’t last. They will, they will learn to make this last. They will reach perfection, as they did when they fight together. Not this time. 

Steve, spent, in Tony’s arms. Anthony Edward Stark. Steve’s whisper in Tony’s ear. You’re mine. 

I love you. Tony’s whisper in Steve’s ear. I love you, come home.  
I am home, Steve’s whisper in Tony’s ear. Steve’s whisper on Tony’s lips. 

I love you. I am home. You’re my home. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Smut inspired by that photoshoot on People Magazine because it was everything and beyond. 
> 
> https://67.media.tumblr.com/aec00cd4e6474c4d3f32d8f2d388791a/tumblr_o6dinsT0KP1tqsknoo1_500.png
> 
> Pre emptive virtual unicorns and eclairs for kudos and comments!


End file.
